model charity

today is day, Doris,
on a less than monthly

gift wraps and preens esteems
for whole empty hour-

to “dregs”, down not out
flocked lower town
soup kitchen-

tossin’ loaded saucer scraps
‘tween loosely scripted

too gross for mention loud
outside own word hanging
herd of zealots-

bolstering their
weighty status.



drear view mirror

moments ago, morn scorched
instant cold

trapped ‘hind dash, bored,
driving heel through
metal floor,

tinker mirror,
swig at beer

pocket fears, we go
stuck in gear,

processing screams-
prayers treading the
A.M./F.U. hush

gripped some wheel,
pressed to flesh,
caving chest

like blanket when
daylight drains
his best.



Kodak’s Journey Home

Kodak would visit his sacred space down by the river each morning before sun’s bleed.  This moment of day, generous in its quiets and wisdom. He would gaze over the foggy sheet of ripples and perceive the winged divers of dawn feeding.  Life’s tinctures pinwheeling above shore.

Kodak longed to be the river, the waves, the calming motion, the down under. He thought , “ water, only ever has to “be” to be enough”. In just pooling self in rest nurtures life around it, by its simple happening.

Feelings pulsed from some hidden heart within the boy. He said out loud, “If my own body is mostly water, why not return what is, to source? I want to go home.” Surely, if his desire was mighty he would succeed in becoming his wants.

Curious, with each day’s cracking dawn, Kodak shed his drops, returning day following, slighter and weaker than last. On his final visit to the river, a tiny boy of bones and hopes stepped onto familiar rock and wrung the remainder of his moisture, eager to merge eternally with beauty.

Kodak, then became the air and coasted invisible with flow that’s always just been there.